Damned
by kurt couper
Summary: She sits on the bathroom floor. A red washcloth is pressed into her arm. Well, it used to be white, but things happen...[Spawn] Rated R for cutting, drugs, and sex. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_This is my new story called Damned. I'm not sure where I'm really going with this. I mean, I have a good idea where I want to go with it, but I'm not sure it's going to go there. And, by the way, I'm trying out this new way of writing and I'm not sure if it agrees with me. So please be patient as I changed many tenses-slash-forms.  
So here's the deal._

_Spike never really loved Buffy. She died. (Boo-frickidy-hoo) and then came back. Spike had been taking care of her until Buffy came back because she needed him. You know the deal. But he doesn't really love Buffy, as much as he says he does._

_Let's see, anymore things you need to know?_

_Dawn's a minor and this is going to contain illegal things. But, hey, she's about 290384203984 gazillion years old; let her do what she wants. There probably will be some, uh, disturbed things in here. There's cutting, drug use, violent sex, and umm…that's probably it. So if those things don't agree with you, you probably don't want to read the story. True, it's not very graphic, but I don't really appreciate getting flames in my inbox._

_This is basically based in season 6, but a very AU season 6. Buffy and Spike are still slapping bodies and Willow is still into dark magick. Tara left. Xander is, ya know, Xander. And I'm not sure if Giles is here or not._

_By the way, I don't own anything. Don't sue. I'm poor. I have about three dollars to my name, which is lunch money._

_Hope you enjoy._

**Chapter 1**  
She sits on the bathroom floor. A red washcloth is pressed into her arm. Well, it used to be white, but things happen. Like taking a white cloth and turning the sin that everyone knows that's inside of her, into blood and letting it defile that pureness that mocks the hell out of her. But she sits Indian-style on the floor and her backs leaning up against the cabinets and she looking towards the tub and she thinks how easy it would be to duck tape her mouth and nose and just fall into a full tub, maybe even with a hairdryer in hand. But the key can't bring herself to that point yet and it makes her realize what a fake she is. She's so numb and so fucking dead inside, but yet she can't even think of committing suicide. Sometimes she wondered if she's faking this whole self-injure thing too.

Someone knocks on the door and it's probably Tara. Oh wait, Tara's _gone_. Left her just like she left Willow just because she was addicted to the magicks. And how is that fair to her? She wasn't the one getting a high that threw her against the ceiling or erasing everyone's memories. It's not that she wishes she wasn't, but everyone's addicted to something. Why did it even matter anymore? Since Tara was sliced off the list it could only be Willow or Buffy or even Xander if he was by. But it didn't really matter who it was, did it? She just had to clean up the mess she caused. The brunette slipped the caked-blood razor in her bra, so she can take it to her room, and took the soiled washcloth and put it on the side of her pants, making her look like her hips gained extra weight. Not fat, just scars. And then she rolls down the long-sleeves that she's kept for months and opened the door. She mumbled a sorry to the person who interrupted her "self" time and went into her room. Because that's all her life consisted of. A bloody razor and four black walls that she couldn't even call her own. True, no teenager could call their room their own because they didn't buy it, but Dawn didn't even belong to the family let alone pay for it. And besides, she was pretty sure that the bank is going to foreclose on the house anyway, since the bills can't be paid. And no one can get a loan. And because Buffy's too fucking busy fucking Spike to even care.

The door to her room closed. And she toyed with the idea of just keeping the towel scrap soaked with blood and just giving it to Spike as some sort of present. Because who doesn't want blood of a key who can open worlds and destroy worlds all at the same time. But then Dawn wondered what her blood would do. If it would open Spike up and destroy him. Have another world open inside of his body. Make him glow bright green and make his insides swirl. She didn't know what would happen to Spike about her blood, but she knew what the blood does to her. Because every time a drop of blood is let, she knows that she's one less droplet of the key. Of killing her sister. But, hey, let's be truthful. It's also about feeling real. And taking away the guilt.

"Dawn," said a voice at the door. And it happens to be Buffy. The slayer's sister could tell by the depressed way the voice starts out, but ends in a plea, a wish, a prayer. A plea that why does she have to be back. A wish that she didn't have to die in the first place. And a prayer to forgive her for thinking of such thoughts.  
"Yes?" was the reply and it didn't hold the depressed state that Buffy's did. That died out long ago. Now she was left with green energy and bones.  
"Dinner is ready. Come down and eat." And Dawn opened her door and followed her "blood-sister" down to the kitchen. Nothing was said because it didn't matter anyway. The only one who could make Buffy real was Spike. Why try when it was useless.

Dawn sat down and Buffy brought the food to her. She picked up the fork and began to eat the burnt spaghetti. How you could burn fucking spaghetti was way beyond the brunette's knowledge. But her _sister_ made it for her and she didn't feel like witnessing another breakdown. So she twirled the food around her fork and thought about how it all would have been better if she just jumped. She idly wondered sometimes if she had a timer for her energy. That she was supposed to die at that tower, so that's all the life-line the monks put into her. So after her sister jumped in her place, the timer went off, her spirit, life, whatever the fuck you want to call it, died out and she was left with nothing but a shell. A shell that was now being yelled at for not eating. A shell who was now being hugged by Willow and Xander. A shell that was being told that the Scoobies were leaving and that Spike would be by a little later to baby-sit. A shell that really didn't care.

She excused herself to an empty table and immediately threw the pot of overcooked noodles and smelly sauce outside were the flowers used to be. Then she walked down to the basement and put that bloody towel in the washing machine, but not before she sprayed tons of Shout on it. Hopefully it will get out. Didn't matter if it didn't though. She just didn't feel like wasting a perfectly good cloth. And then she heard Spike open the door upstairs and heard his heavy boots on the floor above her. And him calling out her name. And she didn't feel like Spike smelling the blood, so she walked up stairs and came face to face with the bleached vampire that she desperately wanted to care for her.

"Looked all over the house for ya', pet," he said as he took a drawl from his cigg.  
"I was just doing some laundry," she answered as she shrugged. "I think I'm going to go get changed. I'm all...dirty."

So she ran upstairs and into the bathroom. She took the razor that was still in her bra and pressed it hard against the skin that wasn't marred and scared. It was placed on her hip and she bit her lip as she did it. She chocked these new scars up for what she could never have. Namely Spike. And why she could never have it. And that she felt like a complete loser. After her little slicing episode was over, she held toilet paper to her side. Then she walked into her room and changed into black jeans and a red t-shirt. She wondered if she could talk Spike into going the Bronze. Probably not, but it was worth a shot. She threw the toilet paper that was soiled with blood in her bedroom garbage can and went down to Spike.

"Why are you all dressed up, love?" the vampire asked, his feet on the coffee table that has broke more than five times, and his hand in his hair, smoothing it through.  
"I'm just bored. Thought maybe I could go out for a walk." A corner of her lips turned up and it was the best smile she's produced all week. Just for that Spike felt he owed it to her to let her go walk.  
"Sorry, pet. Can't. All types of big bads out there."  
"But you're the only big bad I know, Spike. And you can come with me. It's just...I just need to get out of this house." And by the end of her statement she was almost pleading. Her eyes, still dead, were pleading. Pleading for death? Probably not. But he couldn't resist when she put it that way. He knew what it was like.  
"Okay. We'll go out, but it's our secret. The big sis doesn't find out about it. Or it's my balls," he confirmed as he got up and walked to the door.  
"Like she doesn't have them already," she whispered, but he still caught it. And he wondered if she knew. But then he shook his head and blew it from his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_This is my new story called Damned. I'm not sure where I'm really going with this. I mean, I have a good idea where I want to go with it, but I'm not sure it's going to go there. And, by the way, I'm trying out this new way of writing and I'm not sure if it agrees with me. So please be patient as I changed many tenses-slash-forms.  
So here's the deal._

_Spike never really loved Buffy. She died. (Boo-frickidy-hoo) and then came back. Spike had been taking care of her until Buffy came back because she needed him. You know the deal. But he doesn't really love Buffy, as much as he says he does._

_Let's see, anymore things you need to know?_

_Dawn's a minor and this is going to contain illegal things. But, hey, she's about 290384203984 gazillion years old; let her do what she wants. There probably will be some, uh, disturbed things in here. There's cutting, drug use, violent sex, and umm…that's probably it. So if those things don't agree with you, you probably don't want to read the story. True, it's not very graphic, but I don't really appreciate getting flames in my inbox._

_This is basically based in season 6, but a very AU season 6. Buffy and Spike are still slapping bodies and Willow is still into dark magick. Tara left. Xander is, ya know, Xander. And I'm not sure if Giles is here or not._

_By the way, I don't own anything. Don't sue. I'm poor. I have about three dollars to my name, which is lunch money._

_Hope you enjoy._

**Chapter 2**  
The walk was unusually quiet. Dawn didn't mind, but Spike was a little disturbed. Sure, he was used to quiet. And he liked it just as much as the next vampire. But silence with Dawn was more awkward than it should be. Sometimes it was almost as if he wasn't there at all and Dawn was just alone. But she was always alone, right? So it wasn't that new to her.

Spike decided to start a little conversation.  
"So, nibblet, how's school treatin' ya?"  
"Oh you know..." Dawn started. And her voice sounded too distant. And too lost. And too cold.  
"Actually, I don't know. Haven't been there in a couple decades. Why don't you tell me bout it, Nib," he asked. He tried not to notice how empty her voice sounded.

Dawn wondered if she should tell him the truth. Tell him that she hasn't been going to the school for the last two months. And that during those six hours, she's usually high. High and bleeding, with her head blank and her body numb. And she used to think that he'd find it cool and badass and look at her in a whole new way. Then he'd smile and take a hit with her and they'd both be wasted, but they'd be happy-even if just for a little while-and they'd both be free. But lately she realized that he wouldn't find it cool. He'd find it annoying and stupid and kidlike because, lately, Spike's all about being mature and good, and a hero. For Buffy. So she decided it would be best not to tell him because she wanted to keep her habits. Besides, Spike would probably tell Buffy and then it'd all go to hell.

"It's all books and papers and homework. I bet it's the same, except, you know, no hitting is aloud." She shrugged and they kept on walking.  
"It's going good though, right?" He asked.  
"Yeah. Great," she answered. "Oh, hey, do you think we can stop by my friend's house? I left my notes at school and I need them for a test tomorrow." She stopped walking and looked straight at Spike. She smiled again-twice in one night must be a record-and said please. He dramatically sighed, just for the hell of it, and tilted his head.  
"Fine," he stated. "But I'm not going to be bloody dust for this. So don't go tell the big sis."  
"I'm not some type of narc, Spike. I won't. God." What did he think, she was stupid? Asshole.

They arrived at her friend's house in just a couple of minutes. Dawn knocked on the door and was greeted with a guy with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and a beer can in his hand.  
"Dawn!" he greeted and hugged her. "What are you doing here? Came for the party? It's banging." He smiled and then noticed the guy behind her. "This your man?" he asked.  
"No. Oh god no. Just friend. Anyway, I didn't come here for the party; I just need to pick something up. Is Matt in?"  
"Yeah, he's inside. But come in, come in! Have a drink!" The boy walked the two inside.

Dawn told Spike to wait downstairs and that she'll go find Matt. So, he did as she was told and snooped around the mass of wasted teenagers that was the party, while she went up the stairs and to the right where smoke was pouring out underneath the door.

She was greeted with tons of "hey dawn's!" and a can of beer.  
"Haven't seen you in weeks, girl. Where you been?" a boy asked as he took the joint that was being passed around and inhaled deeply.  
"Getting too wasted. man. I think I'm left with a total of two brain cells." They all laughed.  
"That means you need some more?" She nodded.  
"Anything in particular that you want? Got some new shit in the other day, suppose to fuck you up man." The boy got off the bed and walked over to Dawn, who was gulping down the beer.  
"Naw. I just want some of my regular."

So the boy handed her a bag filled with the natural substance and she paid him with the money that was hidden in her bra, which was really a great place to hide things, and placed the weed in there also. She finished the can of beer, drinking it so quickly that her head got a rush. Then she threw the empty can on a pile and left, thanking everyone and swearing that she'll come by later for their weekly parties. Putting a piece of gum in her mouth, she walked down stairs to join Spike.

"Ready?" she asked as she sauntered out the door, waving to the people who were screaming good-bye. Spike slowly walked behind her, wondering where she was going to take him now.

"Got the homework, nibblet?" he asked. He sure didn't see any paper.  
"Yeah, it's in my back pocket, see?" she said as she stuck out her hip and a white piece of paper was seen in her back pocket. "See, right there."  
She started to nod her head, as listening to an inaudible beat, and began to walk lucidly. She was very happy. She got a brand new bag of the green stuff and she was going to go home and smoke on the roof, one of her favorite places. Yeah, she could feel the high coming already.

"So, they're good friends of yours," he commented more than asked as they got a little further down the road. Again, he was searching for conversation. Dawn was just too quiet lately and he didn't like it. She was probably too busy thinking about boys and hair and different flavors of lip gloss, which she used to talk about before her mom died. She once said her favorite was Dr. Pepper flavored lip stuff, but then it changed the next to Tootie Frootie. One day she even came into his crypt and was all bouncy because it even smelled good and of course he just had to smell, vampire senses be damned. So she walked up too him and put her lips under his nose. And they were all pouty and delicious and, yes, they did smell great and it took all he could not to see what it tasted like. But he didn't because she was bloody 14 years old. And it just wasn't right. He paused in his walking to think where this came up from. He shook his head trying to get her deliciously smelling lips away from his brain.

"More like, uh, acquaintances. Well...you know how that goes," she assured him because he wouldn't want her to hang out with such those badasses.  
"That's good because I'd have to rip out every one of their hearts if I knew you spoke daily to those wasted poofters." He animatedly showed her everything he would do, step by step, which made Dawn roll her eyes.  
"Yeah right, Spike," she said quietly. Inside she thought about how much he really didn't care and was just saying that to show how much he was going to protect her because of Buffy. And she thought that because he went to all that work, she'd tell Buffy, when she got home, how perfectly wonderful he was. Filled with soul-y goodness, though it was certainly not there.  
"I would. And besides, those wankers are losers. Drugs are for-" and Dawn cut him off.  
"Losers?"  
"Yeah, uh, losers," Spike agreed and shook his head. Dawn nodded numbly and stopped talking because why would Spike want to talk to a fucking loser?


	3. Chapter 3

_Okay so thanks for all the great reviews. They totally made me smile inside. _

_And for all the niceness, I'll give you another chapter. Normally my policy is that I'll post a chapter after I finish the next one, but most of the time, that doesn't work out. Let's just hope I stay motivated. (:_

_Anyway, here's chapter 3 of DAMNED. The song, yes I know it's a cover, is Marilyn Manson's new single. I really enjoy the song. I actually got it stuck in my head today. Anyway, excuse the whole "songfic" like idea._

_Hopefully, you'll like this chapter. Filled with blood, song, and dane. How fun! Not to sound cliche or very annoying, but reviews keep me in the writing mood. I have no clue, but yeah. It's nice to know I'm not crazy._

_Basics: Buffy died. Came back. This is how life's been for Dawn lately. Spike doesn't love Buffy as much as he thinks. Dawn knows about the whole sex thing. No one else does.Dawn's cutting, doing (illegal) drugs and btw, maybe some more graphic things later as in huffing, and sexin' it up. Or is she? _

_Now on to..._

* * *

__

**Chapter 3**  
They arrived back at the Summers', the walk back eerily quiet. And right after they walked in the door, the phone rang and it was Buffy. Spike answered the phone and Dawn listened it. It was all, "She's fine" "Watching TV and doing homework" "What do you bloody well mean you won't be back till late" "Yes I'll stay" "Yeah, I'll uh, stay the night" "Yeah, you're right, sunlight an' all" and then they hung-up and Dawn started blankly at him.  
"I have to go to the bathroom," she says.

And she dashes up stairs and it's all about movements now. No words. No spoken language. It's about her and this blade that she'll soon hold in her hand and a hard pressure that will spill blood and her feeling weaker and no one knowing. And it's about her playing with her lifeline and getting away with it. And it's about her not caring about it at all. And maybe, just maybe, wishing she did.

But she let too much blood out this time and it just wouldn't stop, but it felt so good. So she was in between shaking and shivering and excitement and nervousness. But it felt so good, so she kept it going. And blood was dripping down her hip and into a puddle on the floor. But suddenly it wasn't good enough so she took the sharp blade and cut across her wrist, parallel with her suicide vein. And, again, the blood went pouring and she didn't care. And she let her arm just lay limp on the side of her body, until the blood stop flowing. And when it did, she took out a new washcloth and soiled it with her sins, again. She wiped up the puddles on the floor and washed off her bloody arm and bloody hip and took the washcloth and put it under the sink to hide it. She then walked into her room, slowly because it took too much to actually move, and changed into pj pants and a long-sleeve shirt. Finally she put a wrist band around her wrist.

Walking downstairs, she had to stop and rest for a bit before continuing. Then she met up with Spike who was on the couch watching Passions.  
"All comfy?" he asked as she slowly sat down on the couch, her head swaying a little before she kept it still. It was just way too heavy for her body right now.  
"Yeah," she says. Voice soft. Mostly breath. She sighs. She cradles her left wrist in her other arm, making it appear as if she's practicing holding a baby. Dawn bites her lip as she accidentally hits her hip against the couch. A soft moan escapes from her lips and she's pretty sure that it re-opened. Great. That's just great. Pretty soon Spike's gonna...

"Are you bleeding?" he quickly asks as his head turns around and it's so fast, she almost didn't see any movement.  
"Eh?" Question. Question. Question. Answer. Answer. Because it's all about acting dumb. And never really answering.  
"I smell blood." And his voice is all husky like it's turning him on and she probably guessed so. But then she thinks about how her blood kills people and makes everything lock in place. And she doesn't want Spike to die. But everything flows from her mind as she sees his face change. Eyes from blue to yellow and they make green.  
"I'm on my, uh. I'm on the rag." And it's the last thing she says. Because why expanded any more on the lie when she didn't have enough energy.

And Spike stared at her, his greenish eyes confused. Because he knew what monthly blood smelled like and that wasn't it. But the more he thought about it, the more turned on he got. Blood rushing from his niblet's nether lips just for him. To drink as a fountain of youth. To be his bloody mary.

His face started to change without his knowledge. Ridgy. Beautiful. Ridgy. Beautiful. And as she started at this site, her head started to get woozy and she slipped a smile. It was a half of a smile and it seemed lazy. And she didn't care because she was suffering from blood loss and the thing she liked to call post-traumatic blade syndrome. It was those couple of minutes where the withdrawal from the blade on her skin made her feel empty and itching for more. It was times like these when she wanted to dance. After all, she had ants running underneath her skin and she wanted to get them out.

She walked over to the radio and put in her favorite cd. Sure, it was a mix cd, but it had everything she loved on it. Hearing, what sounded like, a tribal beat, her body-on it's own-started to sway with the music.

"Dance with me Spike," she said as she heard the beautiful sound of Marilyn Manson's voice throughout the room.

_Your own personal jesus_

And she was singing to the song and dancing exactly to the beat. Because it was all about rhythm and how she was never a part of it. But it was these times, between death and ecstasy, when she actually felt alive and it was good. And it was good. But it was short lived and she always lived it up.

_Someone to hear your prayers  
Someone who cares  
Your own personal jesus  
Someone to hear your prayers  
Someone who's there  
_

And she was shifting the weight from hip to hip, and it was incredibly sexy. And her hips gyrated and rotated and thrusted and dipped. And she put her hands over her head and twisted her whole body around. And she was pretty sure her wounds that reopened and healed, probably opened again. But she didn't care. She liked the feeling of the blood dripping down her thigh. And liked the way Spike was staring at her.

_Feeling unknown  
And you're all alone  
Flesh and bone  
By the telephone  
Lift up the receiver  
I'll make you a believer _

Take second best  
Put me to the test  
Things on your chest  
You need to confess  
I will deliver  
You know I'm a forgiver

Spike's still green eyes stared at the brunette goddess in front of him. She had to be high. That was the only explanation. Even if she was high, that was no explanation for her sudden...dance. If you could even call it a dance. And since when did his nibblet listen to "satanic" music anyway.

_Reach out and touch faith  
Reach out and touch faith _

Your own personal jesus...

Feeling unknown  
And you're all alone  
Flesh and bone  
By the telephone  
Lift up the receiver  
I'll make you a believer

And her body was twitching with Marilyn's voice. But that's all it was: fake spasms to prove she's alive. A twist here and she was sexy. A dip here and she was desirable. It was all just what she remembered Faith doing, so it was all borrowed. Like her life.  
_  
I will deliver  
You know I'm a forgiver _

Reach out and touch faith

Your own personal jesus

Reach out and touch faith

And it was over. And so was her moment of life. And, like always, she felt just a little bit emptier. So, she went into the kitchen and made herself a drink. Filled with vodka and orange juice. It was her usual drink and she was glad that vodka had no real stench. She drank it quickly and the alcohol was already having an affect on her because of the lack of so much blood. She washed out the cup and put a couple of mints on her tongue.

Walking back into the living room, she found Spike not there. The slayer's sister wondered if he left. If he laughed at her pathetic attempt of trying to be sexy and went home to his crypt, having many hilarious tales to tell the demons he met on the way back. He probably was just tired of her period. So she laid on the couch, her wrist comforted with her other hand, and her cut waist lying towards the inside. She fell asleep, or maybe the better word was passed out, with the sounds of Nine Inch Nails.

Spike opened the door from outside as he threw out his cigarette out. He sauntered over to the couch and smiled a lopsided smile as he looked over her.

He never really got any time in the day time to really look at her. Because every time he tried, she would turn away as if his stare burned into her pale skin. And how pale that skin was. He remembered a time when it was sun-kissed tan and she'd strut it off. But now she was pasty and looked sick. Well, she had to be sick since she always was dressed like it was thirty degrees. Long pants and long sleeves. But, either way, she looked even more tortured in sleep than when awake. Her eyes were restless underneath her kohl lined eyelids that was dotted with some black eye shadow. Her lips were turned in a frown and all her muscles seemed tense.

He blew out some unneeded air and decided that he needed to take her up to her room. The couch looked less than comfortable. And, besides, he didn't want the Nibblet getting all woken up from the slaps and slams of two bodies together. So, he picked up the small, but very long girl in his arms and he was surprised on how light she was. The bleached vampire made a note to make sure she was eating. He could even feel her hip bone pressed into his body. And as he slowly walked up the stairs, her subconscious self snuggled into his body. Her left hand was thrown over his neck and her cheek was pressed over his dead heart. Dust heart. Void where heart should be. As he got into her room, his leg kicking the door open, he was thrown into the shock of the looks of it.

He hadn't been in her room for ages; well, since before Buffy came back. And the differences could be widely noted. The once pinkish room was covered in thick black paint that looked like the bit did herself. The little cans were actually still in the corner of the room. The lamps were all gone and visible in her closet, broken light bulbs still in place. Melted candles were everywhere: on her bedposts, on cracked plates scattered around the floor, on her nightstand, even some on the windowsill. The stuffed animals that were normally placed on her clean, made bed, were-again-in the closet, their stuffing pulled out and spread around the floor. Her bed now was made with black, satin sheets and they were anything but made nicely on her bed. There were white spots and dark spots that spotted idly over the fabric, stained with only god knows what, on the sheets. The top sheets were actually twisted around, tightly, as if something to hold onto. There were, also, a couple of posters scattered around the room. Her Backstreet Boys and Aaron Carter and Justin Timberlake posters were all gone, but were replaced with Nine Inch Nails, Jack off Jill, Marilyn Manson, and Rob Zombie. Spike didn't even know who these groups were, but then he didn't really know who anyone was besides the sex pistols and the clash and all those other punk bands that got his dead veins pumping blood in his veins. And as he started to forget what his purpose of being in her room was, he heard Dawn moan and tried to wrap her legs around him. "Matt," she whispered as her head nuzzled more into Spike's chest. "Feels so good," she moaned again, digging her fingers harder into her skin. He slowly placed her onto her bed, her body welcoming the satin like it was her second skin. And as Spike was leaving the room, the room of a girl he no longer knew, he heard it. And it stopped him in his tracks. "You take away the emptiness so good," her voice said in such a hush, as she arched into the bed. "That's it. Hit me harder."

And Spike quickly shut the door, not wanting to hear anything else.

His mind was racing as he walked down the stairs, skipping a step on each stride. His Dawn, his fucking nibblet, was seeing someone. No, not even seeing, fucking. NO. Not even fucking. Someone was hitting his Dawn and she liked it. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought that Dawn wasn't really his anymore. Hadn't been for a long time. And it shouldn't really matter that she had someone else. But it did because he was hers and she...wasn't really his. Nothing about her was the same anymore and it finally clicked.

_Something_ was going on with Dawn and he was _going_ to figure it out.

* * *

Bet you want to know what that something is? Probably not since you already know. But hopefully I'll post some more soon. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Woohoo for all the awesome reviews. (: Totally made me write quicker. (I even wrote some of this before school. Yeah, I'm that dedicated.)_

_I haven't started a new chapter yet because I'm totally lost one what to do. So, when you get down to the bottom, I'll give some, like, examples and you tell me what I must do, and I'll do the opposite. _

_Anyway, **there's a LSD trip** in this entry. And I've never actually done drugs nor had a trip (shocking, I know), so if this is totally wrong, blame it on hellmouth-ish LSD. Good excuse? I think so._

_Basics: Buffy died. Came back. Life basically sucks for Dawn right now. Spike's still sleeping with Buffy. Destructiveness and all. Dawn knows the sex stuff and is totally pissed about it. She's pretty deep in shit also. She's cutting, doing drugs, and maybe having sex. Maybe some more graphic things in the future. Tara left Willow. __  
Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not._

_(there is also some naughty language in here, so just beware if you'r not into it)_

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**Chapter 4**

Dawn woke up feeling dizzy and as if she was floating. But, that's all she was really doing anyway, right? Floating above the mediocrity that was life and hovering away until she reached the good part about life: death. That's all she ever really wanted. It's what she was _made_ to do. But, sadly, she wasn't. And she was now lying on her bed, a little headache forming in her thick, fake skull.

And then her little headache spread into a big one, when she realized that her bed was not where she fell asleep at. The only thing is that she couldn't remember. The last thing she remembered was dancing and then Spike leaving. Maybe Buffy carried her to her room. Or maybe she just magically floated to her room.

But chances are that wasn't how it happened. And Spike probably carried her. And was probably shocked when he saw her room. She smirked at that though. Good, he deserved to be thrown for a loop.

She decided that she needed to get changed and slowly peeled her pants off. When she did so, she saw cakey blood that stained the inside of the cloth. It also stained the color of her skin, so now her skin was tainted pink. She smiled as she remembered her old favorite color: Tickle me pink. It almost looked tickle me pink, except it was made with blood. She bet that when she was younger she wouldn't think that her favorite color would be created with her lifeline itself.

Putting on a black tank top that barely hit the top of her bellybutton and a pair of baggy, gray sweatpants; she headed downstairs in search for a glass of water. She was feeling quite parched. Lately all she had been was being thirsty. But wanting more than just liquid. More than water. More than anything she could ever get.

The kitchen was a mess. Pots and pans were everywhere, a box of cereal was open and all of its bits was scattered across the floor, and even the kitchen table was shattered on the floor, the legs detached and broken.

"Looks like Buffy and Spike's sexcapades attacks again" she bitterly thought and inside she cursed and screamed. Because she wanted Spike first and she was the one who thought he "wasn't that icky". And sometimes it wasn't fair sometimes. And it just wasn't fucking fair.

But who would want someone so fucked up?

Her first instinct was to clean all of it up, but she was too pissed to, so she just made a path through all the rubble and got a glass of water. She then went over to the couch and sat in the dark, slowly sipping on her water.

It was still dark outside, she noticed. And it would be a long time before the two would wake up. Even when they did wake up, she didn't want to be around. The brunette was tired of hearing lies and tired of saying them, also. So, she got up off the couch and went into her room. Going to the old, mahogany chest that was in front of her bed, she kneeled on the floor and ran her hands on the backside of the bottom trim. Her fingers ran into a bag that was duck taped on the side. Grabbing it, she went out her window, her arms grabbing on to the drainpipe as she pulled herself to the nook of the roof. She grabbed the bag, opened it up and reached inside to the pill. She put it on her tongue and let is slowly dissolve. Times like these caused for drastic measures.

Her high was unreal this time. Psychedelic trip. Everything was bright. All the colors brilliant. It looked like she never seen the world before. Everything looked new. And like it should be. Her body felt all tingly and it almost seemed as if her skin was humming. She looked down at her pants, and it seemed that she could see each fiber in them. And the fibber looked like it was breathing. In and out. In and out. She matched her breath with her pants breathing.

The sun was rising and the colors were beautiful. All reds and yellows and oranges. The sky looked like it was on fire. A burning haven just for her. For where the bad kids go. _Because you don't go to heaven where the angels fly_. You get to burn. Forever.

And maybe she liked that better. Actually be something that Buffy has never been. A devil. Maybe they'll even use her special blood. Make her bleed and open the sky and let all the satans and demons and hellish creatures to come out into the world.

That actually didn't sound like a bad idea.

She took a pocket knife that was secretly hidden on the roof and struck her left hand that was already damaged. She made a long cut, again, parallel with her suicide vein. Then she cut her right arm doing the same thing. And she held her arms out like she was flying, letting the blood slowly flow down her arm and on the roof and ground below.

"Gotta get clean. Open world. Hell on earth. My hell. Gotta get clean" she muttered to herself. And then the blood stopped flowing, like it so often does. And she _was_ empty.

But suddenly, the sky parted. And the colors were swirling together. She could see her blood float into the air mixing with the fire in the sky. It looked hot. And it looked like home. Because she was all about being a part of something. So she took a running start and then jumped off the roof, her arms straight out. And even though she was so weak, she could feel the wind beneath her arms. And she finally felt free. And it felt good.

_And she felt good.  
_

* * *

Okay, so basically, Dawn just flew off the roof. And I swear I don't know where to go from here. Because there are many different ways.  
a) spike finds her and sees all the cuts and freaks.  
b) she falls off the roof and just wakes up on the ground and just goes back inside  
c) she wakes up on the roof, and the whole falling thing was just a dream  
d) _all of the above_ Naw. Anything else.

Sorry if I ruined it or something, but a story is only as good as its plot line. And, I don't know, I don't have any good muses.

So if any of ya'll want to be my muse, aim me over at fistxtoface. Because that'd be cool.  
Ah, I'm talkign to a dead choir. Oh well.  
Hope you enjoyed this.  
(:


	5. Chapter 5

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

Basics: Buffy died. Came back. Life basically sucks for Dawn right now. Spike's still sleeping with Buffy. Destructiveness and all. Dawn knows the sex stuff and is totally pissed about it. She's pretty deep in shit also. She's cutting, doing drugs, and maybe having sex. Maybe some more graphic things in the future. Tara left Willow.  
Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Everything seemed dull and quiet. She didn't feel welcome here. There was a haze over her eyes, as if in front of her face there was a smoke screen. And she didn't quite know where she was.

But all she knew was the massive headache and the way her body felt. It was heavy and something wasn't right. And a steady panic began to set in: she didn't know where she was and she couldn't feel her body. She couldn't move. She couldn't think. She couldn't swallow. And she certainly couldn't feel her arms. Legs. Head. And torso.

She remembered to breathe though. In and out. In and out.

Then it hit her. It all flew back and it hit her so hard that it took a couple minutes to suck in another breath. She was trying to fly. She opened up the sky again and it was calling for her. It didn't want Buffy, her mom, Xander, Spike, or Tara; _it wanted her_. And it was the only thing that wanted her. A hole in the sky. And it didn't really care if she was dead or alive. But it still wanted her. Needed her, even. Needed her blood to close. And it was refreshing for someone to even care about her, but to even need her...well that was just surreal.

She decided she had to find another way to get to that rip in hell. Because it was calling her and she could still see it. Her blood was still intermixed in the air. So there was time.

So she tried to move her body even though it felt like bricks. She could barley move her arms, the pain was just too great. It took a while, but she slowly got on her feet. Her sweatpants were cut around the knee and the sleeves of her tank top were off of her shoulders and cut around the stomach. She hoped no one was up. She didn't want to be stopped this time.

When she crawled from the ground, she went straight to her room. The messy kitchen didn't faze her this time because she had a mission. But, sadly, she didn't know how to go into the sky. She tried to fly, but it didn't work. It didn't work and now she was stuck here, trying to think of another way. A thought jumped into her mind. And it seemed plausible. It seemed crazy.

It seemed perfect.

What if her mind just went to hell, instead of her whole body.

She grabbed an old fishing box, which held most of her varied stashes, and pulled out a can of hairspray and a ziplock bag. She smiled and got back on her bed, ignoring the way her body wanted to shutdown. She took the can and put it inside of the bag, then turned it upside down and pressed the nozzle. She put the bag up to her nose and breathed in deeply. She felt it hit her brain and she felt buoyant. Light enough to float. She sprayed the can in the bag and went through the process again. She did the next one so hard that when she breathed it in that the bag covered her nose and mouth and she didn't know how to get it off. She took all the air that was in her body and blew, taking the suction off of her face. She laughed hard, nearly falling off the bed. Everything felt numb. She slapped her face, amazed that she couldn't feel anything. Maybe this idea was working. She could feel her brain nearly floating out of her body.

Seeing as how she needed to do it faster, she put the bag directly over her mouth and nose and just sprayed the can in the bag, getting an instant effect. She inhaled until she could feel her brain stem leave her body and until the can was empty. She felt even better than she did before. Everything was spinning. And she followed her head with the circles. Suddenly everything was going to fast. Her body couldn't keep up. She knew she was about to go. Her body was tingling and her breathe was coming in short, quick gasps. She smiled as her eyes rolled back in her head and as she fell from the bed, her body falling limp on the floor.

* * *

Okay, so this is a really short chapter that doesn't really explain a lot. _Maybe how desperate she is?_ That's just a clue. I know this is probably not the way you guys wanted it, but I don't know, Spike finding her lying on the ground made everything seem so short. Trust me though, he'll find out quickly enough. I have quite a good view on how this is going to go, thanks to Victoria who is such a savior.

But I'm sorry for the short chapter. I'm working on Chapter 6 right now and hopefully I can post it tomorrow or today or something. Thanks for all the _awesome_ reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

_Basics: Buffy died and came back. Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not. Spike's fucking Buffy, but he's not in it for the love. Dawn knows about the sex. She's also been messing around with drugs, cutting, and sex. _

_This chapter deals with some lesbian tendencies. It's small and if you don't like it, pretend the name Amanda is Bob or something._

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Wake up Dawn" said a muffled voice. She barely hears it. Barely recognizes it. "Wake up." And she realizes the voice is coming from behind her locked door. And there's knocking that's coming with it.  
"Come on Dawn, get your ass up"

And she knows that voice. It's somewhere in her head, floating around with her dead brain cells. She knows it. She swears. But it can't come to her. She can't think of it. And she can't even describe how rock-bottom it makes her feel.

"I'm up" she says, her voice too raspy for it's own good. It sounded dry and like acid. She noticed how the banging stopped when she answered. _Good_, she thought. _Good_.

She's still on the floor and she can't remember what got her here. She tries to remember, but it only results in a massive headache. She looks around and sees the hairspray can and ziplock bag beside her hand. That's the culprit. She knows that has something to do with it. If she could only know why.

Deciding that she needed to get dressed, she stood up, ignoring the dizziness that inhibited her body, and went over to her dresser. She looked into the mirror and blanched. The brunette looked horrible. Her eyes were sunken, her skin looked terribly translucent, her hair was dull and stuck to her head, and her lips were ashy and dry. Cuts and yellow tinted bruises scattered around her face and neck. When did she begin to look like death? She idly thought that it started when she started messing with her lifeline. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she felt a deep crack. Her eyes slowly feel to her arms, which in fact, were covered in horrible scratches and bruises. And she certainly didn't miss the two giant gashes on her left arm and the lonely one on her right. True, one cut on her left arm was already healed, or close to. But the newer ones were deep and looked angry. They weren't even close to being healed. Dawn even thought they could be infected. She sighed and wondered how it happened. She had too many wounds for something _not_ to have happened.

She took off her clothes, them being trashed now anyway, and placed a long-sleeve, black shirt on, that was big enough not to disturb her cuts, and a pair of blue jeans. Dawn, weak, hurting, and quite dizzy, traveled to her bathroom to take care of her self-inflicted wounds. She wrapped the five-inch-long cuts in gauze after slathering Neosporin on them liberally.

Dawn walks downstairs and was greeted by a blonde woman. She knew who that woman was, but couldn't place the name. It was her sister, but not her _real_ sister. She didn't have anyone, really. She remembered this girl died, but came back. Died for her. A death that wasn't spent right. She smirked as she thought how she would spend death.

"Finally you got up. I guess you went to bed late" the mystery-woman said behind the kitchen counter. It looked like she was making eggs. The smell nauseated Dawn.  
"Yeah, couldn't sleep" she answered, her voice still sounded like acid. It was probably the acid that rotted her brain and made her forget everything. Why couldn't she remember anything damnit! She was just so frustrated.  
"Well, I'm making dinner. A breakfast-dinner, really. If you take out the plates" the girl started, but Dawn interrupted.  
"I'm not very hungry. I'm going to the Bronze to hang with some friends. I'll be back later." She didn't leave any room for argument. She needed to get out of the house. She needed to hurt something. Grabbing her black hoodie, she headed out on the street.

Walking towards the Bronze, Dawn realized that she had no weapons with her at all. She began to scold herself, realizing how stupid she was. She couldn't remember her own fucking sister's name. She couldn't remember how she got large gashes on her arms or why she walked with a little limp. She felt like a junkie. She was already burnt out and she wasn't even the legal drinking age. Continuing to walk slowly, for she was starting to get dizzy, she took in the direction of The Bronze

The Bronze was rather busy, but of course, it was a Saturday night. Everyone looked so beautiful dressed in pounds of makeup and sexy outfits that looked perfect on every body in the room. She seemed out of place with her fucked-up self. Dawn almost walked out, deciding that making a fool of herself wasn't worth it. But she didn't when she saw Matt and a couple of her other friends walk in the club.

They were making a ruckus-shouting, yelling. They were probably high; actually, she knew they were. Matt spotted her and gave her a glassy-eyed smile. He sauntered over to her with a gorgeous girl on his arm. Dawn saw her around, but never with Matt. Her face was downcast, as if she was nervous or embarrassed. Dawn returned a smile to Matt and the girl, though she didn't really see.

"Wonder meeting you here" Matt said, pushing his brown hair out of his eyes. He was so beautiful when he was high, Dawn mused. He walked up to her and kissed her, his normal greeting. She returned the short peck and smiled.  
"Dawn, this is Amanda." The girl looked up and blushed. She reminded Dawn of Drusilla: long, black hair, soft gray eyes, and a beautiful, cream colored dress that almost matched her pale skin.  
"Hi. So Matt, this beautiful girl your date" Dawn asked, slowly checking out the girl.  
"No, silly, it's _your_ date." He handed the girl off to Dawn. "Now go have fun. I'll be watching."

Dawn rolled her eyes at Matt's feeble attempts to get her to hook up with a girl. He always was trying to get in on some lesbian action. Normally she would just tell him off, but tonight she wanted to have fun.

She took Amanda by the hand and led her to the dance floor. Dragula by Rob Zombie was playing. Dawn pressed her body against the other girl's and slowly sang with the song. Amanda thrusted her body towards the animalistic beat. It looked like she was in the throes of love making. Dawn idly wondered if that's what she would look like after a couple good thrusts. She shook her head, trying to get the thoughts out of her head.

"Dig through the ditches, burn through the witches. I slam in the back of my dragula" she whispered in the Amanda's ear. The girl moaned and bit her lip.  
"Matt wants us" Amanda commented as she stopped dancing. Dawn wondered what this was about, but followed her as she walked over to Matt.

He tossed her a bottle of water. Dawn thanked him and unscrewed the cap. She was about to drink it before he stopped her.  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you" he said, smirking. He pulled Amanda towards him and started to nibble on her neck that she exposed to him. Dawn raised her eyebrow at his words.  
"Take a sniff at it. You might find it...brain numbing." She did as he said. After, she looked at with him her eyes a little more glassy and dilated then before.  
"Diluted reefer" she asked and he shook his head. She gave him a big smile and walked toward him. She placed her hands around his jaw and kissed him gently.  
"Later" she whispered into his ear as she bit it softly. She gave him a knowing look and he shook his head.

Taking Amanda back onto the dance floor, she kept the open bottle near her nose and Amanda's. Dawn started to get giggly and everything felt calm. Everything was good. She felt warm and loved. Thank God for Matt.

"I love this song" Amanda says, pulling Dawn into a slow song. Dawn put her hands around Amanda's neck and Amanda connected her hands around Dawn's thin waist.

_I don't care if it hurts  
I want to have control  
I want a perfect body  
I want a perfect soul  
I want you to notice  
When I'm not around  
You're so fucking special  
I wish I was special  
_

Amanda put her head on Dawn's shoulder because it was too heavy. Dawn nuzzled her own head against Amanda's.

_But I'm a creep  
I'm a weirdo  
What the hell am I doing here?  
I don't belong here_

Lifting her head, Amanda stared at Dawn. The brunette stared back and suddenly lips were on lips. Dawn put her hands through Amanda's hair, bringing her face closer. Gasping for air, Amanda started to place kisses on Dawns collar bone. Dawn moaned.

"That's enough girls" Matt said as he broke up the couple. His voice was husky and his eyes were dark. He pushed Amanda away almost making her fall, but she fell into a tall man. Matt took Dawn by the elbow and drugged her out on the alleyway

As soon as he closed the door he pushed her onto the brick wall. He attacked her mouth with his and she was stunned by the force. He roamed his hands around her body and he was about to take her shirt off, but was stopped by her protesting.

"No. Just want you in me" she moaned, not wanting Matt to see the scars. He nodded as he bites her neck-he knows it turns her on. It wasn't hard enough to break the skin, but she started to tremble underneath him.

"You taste good." He groaned, his voice so thick with need. He began lightly kissing down her neck and towards her collar bone as he fumbled around with the button on her pants. Her hands roaming his tight body, she found her hands at the top of his pants. She ran her hands underneath his shirt, slowly feeling his smooth flesh. She broke away from his mouth and dipped into a crouch. She pulled his body close to her. Unbuckling his belt, she also unbuttoned his pants. Dawn shimmied down his boxers, so they were just off his hips, but Matt grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him.

She pulled his shirt off and threw it on the ground. While she was placing hot, open mouth kisses on his chest, he shimmied down her pants, leaving her just in her underwear. He hooked his fingers in them and slowly...

"What the fucking hell?"

* * *

Okay, so if you don't understand that ending. Dawn and Matt are about to fuck and then **_another_** voice chimes in. So, it's notMatt's voice.

Anyway, this chapter is in response to all the short chapters I've been writing lately. True, I don't like it, but I had no other way. Sorry for another songfic like thing. I don't like the way I have been writing lately. Oh well.

Thanks for all the awesome reviews. They make me smile.


	7. Chapter 7

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot.  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

_Basics: Buffy died and came back. Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not. Spike's fucking Buffy, but he's not in it for the love. Dawn knows about the sex. She's also been messing around with drugs, cutting, and sex._

_Okay, in this chapter it's a little confusing. It's not Dawn's point of view, its Spike's. And this goes before the whole Bronze scene. This starts right after he put Dawn in her bed and has sex with Buffy. So, just remember this as you read it. Thank you._

* * *

**Chapter 7**

He woke up to the smell of blood. Innocent, yet tainted blood. The amount that hit his nose astounded him. It was powerful and near knocked him over, if he was sitting up. His face changed automatically, shifting into his vampire facade. The blood kept on getting stronger and he felt the demon inside of him rage. Spike tried to ignore it; tried to suppress the way the blood called to him, but it didn't work.

Putting on a pair of pants, he left them unbutton and unzipped. He didn't bother putting on a shirt or a blanket over his body since all the windows were permanently covered. Between the niblet and Buffy, he found ways to persuade them into the dark.

All of a sudden, he swore he heard something fall. It sounded like it hit the ground with a big thump. But being scorched by the sun and all, he couldn't look outside. He sure it was just nothing. Maybe a bird was shot and fell to the ground. He shrugged, really not caring.

Walking into the bathroom, deciding to take a shower, he turned the water on hot. Not that it mattered what the temperature was, he just enjoyed taking all the hot water from the birds and he also liked how the mirrors got so steamy. He stepped into the tub and tried to let the water wash away his blood problem. But he suddenly felt his demon affected more. _He smelt more blood_. Damn the nibblet and her monthlies, he thought once he remembered the incident of last night. He threw his body into the stream and watched as his skin did not get pink, but pruned. And as he got out of the shower, his faced shifted into its demonic visage. His nostrils flared and, yet again, he smelt blood and it seemed too strongto be monthly blood. So, he followed his nose which led him under the cabinet and to...a dirty rag?

He fumed at himself once he found it was a used towel. He must really be losing his bloody mind. But the stench was still coming strong, so he decided to sniff it. And when he did, he was thrown in a world of knowing, yet _not_ knowing. This towel was soaked clean through with blood. And it wasn't the slayer's blood because it smelled too powerful. Too strong. And there could only be one possible way. One fucking possible way. Besides, why would the slayer hide a dirty rag? _She wouldn't_. But someone would...if they wanted to hide it.

He ran into her bedroom, about to yell, scream, and fight. She had no clue what she was messing with. She was stupid and immature and-presently not in her room. But the stench of blood still was still there. He was shaking. He ripped her black sheets from her bed, leaving shreds in his hand. He tossed them on the ground once he saw all the knives and razors everywhere. And he could imagine her, sitting in the corner slicing through her own flesh through tears that couldn't cease to fall. He shuddered. Spike took all the sharp objects he found, which was easy because all of them were tinted with her blood, and put them in a big bag. He wanted to burn them all. Just torch them for being an assist in help of Dawn falling. They were bad enough. And he couldn't stay here. It was killing him. So, he took the sheets, placing them over his head, and ran through the house to the back door, bag in hand. And he opened the door and he could still smell her. It was like he couldn't get away from it. Like it was mocking him for not catching it sooner. So he ran. Fast. Into the sewer for the sun was just overhead and it was hot.

He wished he never knew. He wished he never fucking knew anything. About Dawn or her little extracurricular habit. He damned himself for waking up. But then he would have never noticed about Dawn's falling. But it was all too strong. These emotions. He's never felt this pain in his chest that hurts constantly. He tries to breathe through it, but he's forgotten how. The bleached vampire hasn't breathed in a while. It's a wonder why dust doesn't come out of his lungs at the very thought. And he doesn't understand why she did it. Does it. But it's not that he's never done it before. Because there used to be a time that there wasn't an open gash on his pale body. But that was years ago. Decades even. He thought the whole masochist era died off around the early 1900's. _But he was wrong_. Because here he was, pacing and fucking fretting, over a girl who hurts herself and he doesn't know why. And he doesn't know what kills him more: finding out or not knowing why she did it. Why she needed to take a strip a metal and take a bite out of her flesh with it. He never knew she got _that_ bad.

He was rash, he figures. All he did was smell the blood in her room. That's all he convicted her of, so far. But he could have sworn he smelled marijuana. But he doesn't know now. He can faintly remember the way her sheets smelled of Jack Daniels and flesh. But...maybe he doesn't want to know.

_But maybe he does_.

And he remember going into her room last night and knowing something was wrong with her. Said he was going to figure it out. Well _he found out_ and now he's not so sure that he wanted to know. Because there was thirty more minutes 'til sunset and he felt like an animal in a cage. He just wanted to go. And scream at her. Yell at her. Because it's her fault he feels like this. If she wasn't so bloody immature, he'd still be with Buffy right now and shagging her brains out.

Humans were right when they said it-Ignorance is bliss.

Because who wants to know how their hotdogs are made or how an abortion works. Or what Dawn does to herself.

And he wonders why no one saw it. There are three other scoobies, not including him or Buffy. Willow would watch her after school at the Magic Shop and Xander would babysit her when they went out on patrol. Hell, Tara could basically read minds since she was so bloody aware of everyone and their soundings and she would even take Dawn on "dates". Actually, Buffy set up the dates as some sort of counseling where Tara would listen to Dawn and report back to Buffy. Tara had been saying that Dawn was well-rounded. But it seemed like everyone had too many problems on their mind and looked over her. He sure did.

And he can feel the sun go down. It's almost faded into the horizon now. And he can't fucking stand it any longer. He needs to kill. Because he feels something in between his muscles and his bones and his flesh. It's his dead veins. And they're calling to be let lose. He can feel his whole body just ready to fight. So he walks out of his crypt and his flesh stings with the last rays of the sun. But it doesn't matter. He needs to move around. Walk off some of this bloody anger. Because he's fuming with Dawn now. Worry has passed. And it's move on to _she should have know better_. "She could have come to me or Buffy or to _me_. So she had no reason to do what she's doing" he thought to himself. She had no reason to play God.

He spots one. It's new and stupid and it's exactly what he needs. Taking his fist, he punches the new fledging into unconsciousness. The vampire, if you could even call him that, lands on the ground with a thud. Spike straddles him and starts laying his madness on him. Punching him. Making he bleed. Because maybe if he has enough blood shed, Dawn will be happy and won't need to shed hers anymore. Because maybe that's what she wants. Blood. So he's all about blood now. Because that's what she's about. Spike takes his hand and shoves it through the vampire's chest, ripping his heart out as his hand comes back out. The vampire turns to dust and Spike's body falls to the ground. He reckons everything falls. Right?

So, he goes to The Bronze because she couldn't be anywhere else. Well, she could be over at that boy's house that reeked of pot and beer. But that will be the last resort. To go there.

Walking into the door, he realizes he has nothing to say. He didn't plan it out. He had five soddin' hours and didn't think of anything. He really wishes he didn't fuck this up. Maybe he really didn't have a case. Maybe he should calm down.

But then again, maybe not. Because he sees her with her little friends and she's having a great ol' time. She's writhing and twisting with her little girl friend. And they're dancing like it's the end of the world and he almost graces a smile because this is the first time, in a while, that she seems to be having fun. But then he remembers everything and his lips turn into a sneer and he walks off to get a drink. He's going to need a drink. Hell, he's going to need many.

He ordered a scotch and winked to the girl at the counter. She fluttered her eyelashes and he gave her a grin. The girl told him that the drink was on the house. Spike nodded and flashed another swoon-worthy smile. It was always the trick.

Going back to his dark corner, he stared at her. She looked so pale and weak. He could hear her heartbeat; it was slower than the others in the room. He watched as she sauntered over to her little boy friend who gave her a present. He gave her a bottle full of water. How fucking sweet. And now she's dancing with her girl friend again and they're looking pretty close with their eyes all cloudy and dilated. And then it happens. His mind can't get around it. So he walks out into the alley way, and starts hitting the brick.

_Her pink tongue darts out of her mouth and licks her dried lips. She stares into chocolate brown eyes and chocolate brown eyes stare into hers._

He balls up his fists and throws them at the wall. Some pieces of the old brick come flying back at him.

_And suddenly, she presses her lips against the other lips and they're both nipping and sucking on flesh. Soon, they're both battling in dominance of their tongues._

And he can't give it out of his head.

_She moans and throws her head back. And takes a hold of chocolate brown eyes and crashes her body into hers, grinding as doing so._

He takes his heavy boot and kicks the wall. The force is so strong that he hears the small bones in his foot crack. The pain radiates up his body and he decided to walk it off.

Coming back into the alley, he heard the desperate pleas of two lovers.

"No. Just want you in me" he heard softly. He heard unzipping and panting and moaning and lips smacking together.  
"You taste good." He can see them clearly now, a boy and a girl. The girl is writhing underneath the boy who has her pinned to the wall. They're necking. "Ah, this wanker's gonna get some" he thought to himself smugly.

"Wait a minute," he thinks"that voice sounded like..." And it is. He sees her head thrown back, moaning for him. And he sees her sliding down his pants and him sliding down her pants and him...

"What the fucking hell?" he screams, ending his shock.

He stares at the two, unneeded breathes coming in gasps. His vein on the side of his neck bulges. And it's all about vengeance now. He takes the boy by neck and throws him off, letting the ground knock him unconscious. His head feels like it's going to burst; the chip doing its job. He looks straight at Dawn, watching her nervously pull up her pants. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away from the wall. He heard her begging for him to stop and that it hurt (and doing so made his brain twinge). He threw her against the garbage can and he gritted his teeth to get over the pain.

"Now, you're going to shut the fuck up," he stated to hush her stupid words. He held his hands up and backed away.  
"And you're going to answer every bloody question I ask."

* * *

Okay, so this leaves you basically right where you started in the last chapter. Sorry for that. I needed Spike's difficultness and non-understanding and desperateness of it all. I'm also sorry for all the big paragraphs. : I tried to get all of your concerns or comments or whatever in this chapter. As in what happened to the scoobies. The Used song will hopefull be comming up next as so will what her relationship with Matt is. 

I hope you liked this chapter. And thanks for all your awesome reviews. I'm really enjoying reading what you think about the story.  
3


	8. Chapter 8

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot.  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

_Basics: Buffy died and came back. Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not. Spike's fucking Buffy, but he's not in it for the love. Dawn knows about the sex. She's also been messing around with drugs, cutting, and sex.

* * *

_

**Chapter 8**

_  
"Now, you're going to shut the fuck up" he stated to hush her stupid words. He held his hands up and backed away.  
"And you're going to answer every bloody question I ask." _

Her body trembled as she stared at Matt, unconscious and bloody. His pants were now down around his knees. She felt sorry for him. Why did Spike have to be so god damn stupid!

Who the hell does he think he is, she thinks. He wasn't her protector, not anymore. Not since before Buffy died. After she died he forgot her and wallowed in his own pain. Not that he should have just forgotten about himself and pay attention to her, but a nice "It's not your fault" lie would have been nice. But that was a before-Spike thing.

She almost laughed at what she was saying. It's how they tell time now, she thought. _Before Buffy's death_. _After Buffy's death_. _During Buffy's death_. It seemed like time didn't have any meaning anymore. That just these occurrences in time soaked it all up; it all concentrated on the slayer. So days flew by _after_ Buffy came back, which contrasted how time stood still _before_ she came back. But no one really talked about _before_ she died. So before-Spike was prohibited in the Scoobie ear distance.

She shook her head, trying to get the off handed thoughts out of her brain. She looked at Spike, who stared straight at her. His eyes were stale and hard, narrowed at her in disgust.

"Yes" she asked, hardening herself. He didn't have the right to do this. He had no fucking right. He lost it the first time he touched her sister.

And he's burning her through. But she's giving the same intensive look at him. It makes him falter a bit, but he doesn't let on. She looks like she has something on him. Like she's got black mail and it's hanging over his head. Though her eyes cold and hard, he noticed how they were too light and too cloudy and too dilated.

"What are you on" he asks, his voice forceful. She gave him a quirk of the lips and her eyes twinkled a bit.  
"None of your fucking business" she comments while walking away. Her voice wasn't as cold as her eyes; it almost held a challenging note to it. Her ass swayed as she walked, her boot heels clicking. He was almost hypnotized by the sound, but quickly got over it and caught up with her.

He grabbed her lower arm, twirling her around straight into his chest. She let out a little groan of pain as he manhandled the mysterious five-inch cuts that were on her arm. She took her arm out of his possession, placing it back by her side.

"Don't you touch me" she said. Clean. Cut. Precise. _Just like her cuts_.  
"I can do whatever I damned well pleased." His face was smug. A smirk graced his lips and Dawn wish she had enough strength to wipe it right off of him.

He took his hand and slapped her across the face, proving that he, in fact, could do whatever he wanted. He grinned his teeth together as he felt the aftershock of the chip. Dawn's cheek was bright red and it contrasted greatly with her pale, sickly skin. She didn't move or comfort her cheek. She stood icily still as she looked at him with hallowed eyes.

He didn't like that she wasn't affected. He decided to rile her up.

"Surprised the chip even went off. Thought it didn't work on the dead."

She didn't blink. Didn't stumble. Didn't have a look of shock on her face. She didn't even take in a breath. She kept staring at him.

He shifted under her glance, not liking the way she was glaring at him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be yelling and screaming and telling her how stupid she was for doing something so outrageous. But she had somehow turned the tables. She had the upper hand. And it idly hit his brain that she _always_ had the upper hand. Ever since Buffy died _and_ came back.

He wondered how it happened. How it really got that far. How she got so old in a matter of months. She had everything in her control. She knew how to push buttons. And she just tapped his.

She saw his working brain and walked away. Because it was all about not wanting to get fixed now. She got too far off her blood and chemicals to just be stopped by a pathetic, neutered vampire. If she got caught, everything would come pouring down. There would be no more long nights with Matt, no more smoking a bowl on the roof, no more razors to her skin, and especially, no more skipping school.

But he chased after her once she got to the main road. He was tired of this. She was always running and he was always going after her. What happened if he wasn't chasing her? What would she have then?

Peace?  
Death?

"Why didn't you tell me" his voice was strangled because he knew he had lost. He had lost long ago, but he just never knew it.  
"Tell you what" Her voice cracked as if she hadn't talked in a long time. If she played stupid, it would be easier. She could easily dismiss all the facts that made her dirty and poisoned.  
"Everything. Bloody everything." And he steps in front of her, not leaving her an inch to escape.

"You're stupid. Did you know that? Do you fucking know that" he screamed, his brokenness placed behind him. "You're _human_ Dawn. You're not soddin' invincible." And he was doing exactly what he wanted to do. He was screaming at her, telling her how it's wrong, why it's bad. Telling her that life is fucking precious and why can't we all just get along. Because he was the prince of fucking morality now.  
"I'm not exactly human now, am I" she said as she imagined being green and swirly and floating and air and not knowing anything, but knowing everything because she was older than life itself. Because she was older than him.  
She could kill better than him. _Because she could kill her sister_.  
"That's not the point and you know it. You can't play God. What you did-have done..."

And she breathes. In and out. In and out. Because that's all she can do. Because she listens to his words and they play on her like never before. Because they actually _mean_ something. But not enough. She feels a burning in her stomach and her body goes numb, but nothing more. And it makes her feel even more defected. Because even though Spike's yelling at her for being such a failure, she feels nothing.

She wonders if this is really happening. And it's the first time she ever thinks that maybe she died on that tower that night and this was just her hell. Because people like her didn't go to heaven. She was too dirty for a place like that. Though said _death is the only water that can wash away these sins_, those sins didn't even compare to hers.

"And if you want to fuck up, then do it on your own bloody time." And she notices that she missed everything he was saying. But it didn't really matter since his words didn't do a thing to her in the first place. But the fuck-up stung and hit her in the chest, just enough for her heart to skip one beat.

And he heard it.

And he takes his fingers and, with feather light pressure, stroked her hand. Sliding his hand underneath her shirt sleeve, he pushed it gradually up to above her elbow. Her breath catches in her throat and she can't breathe at all. This is too much for her. _Too exposing_. Sure, words didn't hurt because they were just words. _They didn't mean anything_. But actions did. And besides, no one has ever seen her scars. This was a big deal.

He takes in air as he sees them. All the scars. The old cuts. The new. And he cradles the arm in his hand, and slowly peels back the make shift bandage that she applied earlier. Blood had seeped through and soiled the gauze, which was probably from him grabbing her. His dead heart hurts when he sees the five-inch long wound. He takes his finger and traces the outside of it. The motion causes her to stiffen and tense.

And she closes down once again.

"Oh Dawn."

* * *

So, there is chapter 8. Probably only a couple more chapters to go. I have to discuss everything that's been going on with Dawn, her resentment towards Spike about his and Buffy's sexcapades. And also do that Used song. And I was going to do it in a suicide scene, but the whole sucidie just didn't make sense. So now I have to work it all in, but it's all good.

I hope you liked this chapter for it was very, _very_ hard to work on. Reviews are loved, by the way.

Oh, I wrote a cute little Spawn fliclet called _The Taste of Ink_ and it's all based on that song by The Used.Just thought I should keep all the spawn-lovers updated.

Thanks again for all the wonderfully nice reviews.


	9. Chapter 9

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot.  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

_Basics: Buffy died and came back. Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not. Spike's fucking Buffy, but he's not in it for the love. Dawn knows about the sex. She's also been messing around with drugs, cutting, and sex._

_By the way, I'm thinking of two more chapters left. Hopefully. And then I'll write this new, cool fic that I have in my head. That Victoria put in there.

* * *

_

**Chapter 9**

_His dead heart hurts when he sees the five-inch long wound. He takes his finger and traces the outside of it. The motion causes her to stiffen and tense. And she closes down once again. _

Oh Dawn."

She turns her stony face away from his gaze that is fixed on her. She never intended for anyone to get that close to her to find out. In fact, it was the last thing she wanted. But fate had tangled her feet and forced her to trip flat on her face. Spike had caught her. Seen the blood. Seen what she had fallen to. And seen how she tried to escape.

Yet it felt all wrong. It was the way he was reacting. He shouldn't care. He should yell at her, scream. Because he didn't have the right to care about her all of the sudden. He didn't have the right to just know what was going on and not have to worry. He was just too caught up with Buffy and her spread legs. If only Spike knew how she felt...

She was confused. Her mind couldn't even think of ways to explain it. Lie for it. She couldn't possibly say that even though she was just a bright ball of energy that was condensed into a human shell, that she was real. She didn't want to be real. She didn't want any of this to be real. People said she was, but she didn't believe them. _Didn't want to_.

She sometimes believed it was her heartbeat. That the noise bothered her. Because it was the one thing that reminded her she was real. It was that faint tapping in her chest that mocked her. Told her how she was just living in a dream world and she'd always be real. Always be there and in pain. And maybe that's why she cuts so deep. To try to deafen the thunderous noise.

The coldness of his fingers that graced her scars, made everything seemed a little to real. She couldn't stand it anymore. She didn't like real. So, she jerked her arm away from him and covered it quickly with her sleeve. She looked at Spike, his eyes downcast as if still looking at her arm that wasn't there. Dawn straightened her clothing and took off. Not caring where she went. Because she had to get away. Had to get away from him.

Her mind was whispering to just go. To just get out. Because it shouldn't be like this. No one should have ever known. She should have just killed herself when she had a chance. So no one would have known. Besides, with her gone, no one would have to not worry about _not_ worrying over her.

She was torn out of her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder, which stopped her form walked. He turned her around sharply. Apparently he did not understand her message.

She just wanted to be alone. Away from _him_.

"Dawn" he said. And he used her name. And when he uses her name, it means he's mad. "You're going to tell me what is going on. And I mean _really_." His voice was thick and solid, like cast iron-no chance for her to escape.  
"You wouldn't understand" was her mechanical response.

His body turned tight and he clenched his jaw. His eyes grew with disgust and acidic. He could have burned through metal,yet alone Dawn.

"I wouldn't know? Well, Dawnie...I found the fucking rag which was soaked in your blood. Hell, I smelt your blood everywhere. I found all the knives, bloody razors, and drugs hidden in your room. I saw you dancing with your girlfriend sniffing something and snoggin'. Only to, minutes later, go out into the alley to shag some guy who reeked of cannabis and vodka. So please tell me what I wouldn't _understand_. Because I saw it all." He was nearly screaming as his montage went on. The demon within him spat fear and anger upon the girl that was in front of him. The words were enough to tear her apart, and he knew that. So he tried to suppress his demon.  
"Don't bet on it," her voice says quietly. And he almost didn't catch it.

_Almost_.

"What the hell is that suppose to mean" he yells, feeling foolish.  
"Nothing, Spike. Just...forget it." She took a deep breath and just shook her head.

He blew up.

Even with Spike yelling all his worries and findings in her face, she remained strong. The anger of his ignorance blew up inside of her. She didn't need this. She didn't want it.

"Just shut the fuck up, Spike. I mean, it's not like it actually matters. I'm nothing but bright, shinny, green energy swirling around in a fake body" She had sung that song so many times before to get people to leave her alone. But Spike's patience of the song was wearing thin.

He balled up his fists and was pretty sure he busted a blood vessel in his eye.  
"How many _bloody_ times do I have to fucking prove it to you?" He walked closer to her, getting in her face even more. "You have a fucking heart beat," he shouted, placing his cold hand over her heart. She shoved his hand away. "Even if you are the key, you're in a _human_ body now. And, bloody hell, that doesn't even change the fact that you're slowly killing yourself."

He took a couple steps, getting lost in his talk. His arms were flowing and his eyes were wild.

"But is that all that soddin' matters to you? Trying to prove that you're not real." He jumped out in front of her and put his tongue behind his teeth. His whole face lit up. "Well guess what, love? You're wrong! You're more than real." His anger may have been suppressed, so he didn't snap her foolish throat right there, but his voice was just as lethal.

"You know what, Spike? You want the fucking truth? You want it?" Her voice raised a notch and she was pouring just as much venom out of her mouth as she could. Pushing him away from her, since he was too close, she took a couple steps back.

For the first time in a while, to him, she looked alive.

"No, Spike. No, it's not all I fucking care about. Because night after night I have to hear my own sister screaming the name of the man I used to love." She watched his face blanch and go blank. A smirk graced her face. "Yeah, that's right. You heard me correctly. I used to love you. I did. I swear to God, I did. And it wasn't something stupid. It was real. Goddamnit. But then...with my sister? And the fucking? God. That's just-" She took a deep breath, calming her senses. "I really lost all respect for you then." There, she had said it. Confessed it, rather. Her voice was as cold as her ices that were glaring up at him.

He was still in shock. But she continued.

"God, Spike, you are just so goddamn blind. You couldn't see it before Buffy. And you never would have known if I hadn't told you. You know? After that I just stopped caring. Stopped trying. All those attempts at trying to prove I was real, well...they just died. Just as I tried to die too."

It was true, after she found out that her sister and Spike was fucking, she gave everything up. Especially hope. No one looked her way at all. And if they did, well, then they'd see that something was wrong with her. But she just became invisible and you can't _feel_ being invisible. But you can feel a razor through the skin or your body leaving earth, or total bliss from a couple good thrusts.

Spike stood there in silence. Her words stung badly. It hit him like another apocalypse. It was just the fact that he didn't see it. Didn't pay attention to the things he should have. Instead of watching Dawn break and crumble, he fallowed the slayer like a lost little puppy thriving for comfort and attention. When there was a little girl who would give him all the love he needed.

"Dawn..." he started, not sure where to really start or to go on. He didn't know how to make anything right again, but he had to try something. "You're real. Your heartbeat proves it."

_Your heartbeat proves you're real_. It hit her hard. She didn't want it to hurt anymore. She wanted everything to be dull again, as if she just drowned a shot which left her world fuzzy and soft. So she wouldn't have to hear the heart thudding within the confides of her chest.

"Well, maybe I don't want to be real." The words flew out of her mouth before she could even think about it. "Maybe I don't want to be real, ya know, because when you're real, everything hurts. You'd think that the less blood in your body the quieter it sounds. But it gets louder. And I can feel it all over my body. And it hushes me." Her ranting began, her temper beginning to quickly melt the cold tone that was in her voice. "I hate how real everything is. How the sun is so bright it nearly blinds me. How Buffy's voice taunts me like I'm still 10. How her stupid sidekicks decide that I'm all innocent and in need of protection still. And I hate how above everything, that when I want silence, that my fucking heartbeat still haunts me."

Dawn eyes scorned envy upon Spike's face. He had no heartbeat. He was dead. He could have all the silence he wanted. And besides, he wasn't a human shell filled to the brim with swirly, green energy.

"So is that all you want? To be some fucking corpse lying around with no heart yet alone a heartbeat, just so you can have silence. Would you rather have my life? Sure you can hide from the world and everything, but it wouldn't _mean_ anything." Arguing with her was wearing him down. It was like it wasn't worth it. Maybe she was right.

"Have you ever thought that maybe life doesn't have a meaning? Or maybe I didn't want life to begin with"

And he stared at her. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. She was annoying, really. She never told him anything he wanted. Spike just wanted to fish down within her and see exactly what she was messing with. She said she loved him. Loved. Past tense. He experienced how it felt to be loved in five seconds. But then it crashed. And she didn't respect him. Because of what he did. What he's doing. She didn't hate him for who he was. Or what he was. But what he did. Not even the killing or the torture. But for fucking.

This girl had his mind reeling and confused.

And he didn't know where to go from there. It was a little after midnight. And they were still in the middle of the street a block away from The Bronze. He grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her into the alley.

"You know you haven't answered any bloody question I asked." She tilted her head and drew her lips into a straight line and nodded her head up and down. "Will you at least answer one?"

And she decides to say yes just because he deserves it. And because he would never take no.

"Everything you done. Out of it all. What was it about?"

And it was easy to answer. It really was.

"Blood."

He nodded his head, feeling that that would be the answer. He shook his head and picked up a discarded glass bottle from the ground and smashed it against the wall of the alley, shattering the glass into various sized sharp-edged shards.

"Well, Nibblet, want me to help you then?"

He pushed up his sleeve and took the shard and placed it on his arm. Applying pressure as he drew the sharp piece up his arm, the sides of flesh split apart from each other. Dark, thick blood oozed out of the wound, causing it to pool around it. He then pushed up hers up, admiring the smooth, scarred flesh. His fingers danced on it before he drew down the glass and pressed down. Her breath caught in her throat as blood leaked to the surface. It ran down her arm like it was nothing but water.

She bit her lip as she stared at the blood. It was beautiful, really. Her body was her canvas and blood the paint. And as she glanced at him, she didn't know what bothered her more. The fact that he cut her or the fact that his chip didn't go off.

It was then when she realized that she might be just a little more fucked up than she thought.

* * *

Hoped you like that chapter. It felt like it was really hard to write. Like I said above, I only think I'm going to have two more chapters in this story. Hopefully.

Thank you for all your reviews. (:


	10. Chapter 10

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot.  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

_Basics: Buffy died and came back. Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not. Spike's fucking Buffy, but he's not in it for the love. Dawn knows about the sex. She's also been messing around with drugs, cutting, and sex._

_This is sort of the song-fic section. It's The Used's "I'm a fake". It's a brilliant song. You should listen to it. And during this chapter, it's Dawn's own point of you, as in first person.

* * *

_

**Chapter 10**

We're sitting in my room now. He felt as if he should get me home. So I'm sitting on the bed, my legs curled up into my chest. And he's sitting behind me, embracing me with his arms. I think it was because he didn't want to see my face, when I told him everything. Or maybe he just didn't want me to see his.

But nonetheless, he wanted me to tell him what happened. Practically begged me. And I thought I should get it out, before the poison got to me and killed me off.

And I tell him everything:

_Small, simple, safe price. Raise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets. This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals. _

It all started when I found out I was the key. I knew something was wrong with me before because I could just tell. I never felt right. I always had these past memories that scared me when I was sleeping. They were full of chanting and blood and energy and men fighting after me. There was always bloodshed. There was always death. And it was always because of me. So, when I found out it was true, it was quite a shock because I knew that everything I've ever dreamed about or the past memories weren't false. It happened.

I was in denial at first. I was always trying to prove I was real. Its funny how, at first, I _craved_ humanity. I wanted to be real so bad. But now I'm trying so hard not to be. Being real comes with the consequences of killing off your sister and everyone wishing that you died. Anyway, I was in denial. So I took this ceremonial knife that was in Buffy's weapon chest and I just did what felt natural. Thus slicing my skin.

It was the first time and it was beautiful.

_And I am not afraid to die. I'm not afraid to bleed, and fuck, and fight. I want the pain of payment._

It became a game really. I would play with my lifeline and no one would know. And it felt good to have a secret over everyone. I'd take all the anger out on myself and it was, like, seducing. But when Mom died, the game was over. It wasn't for the anger. It was for the loss and the guilt and the fact that she really wasn't my mom. I mean, I felt guilty for not feeling bad enough. For not crying enough. So a quick blade to my skin proved I wasn't a monster and totally incapable of feeling.

But when Buffy died it became too much. I really think I was supposed to die out there. I think I was only made for so long, like some type of beef. And my expiration date past, so I started to go bad and spoil. From the inside out. And it hurt too much to know that I caused someone else to die. Someone who would have undoubtedly saved the world from so much badness. And I was just in her place. Not even a shadow of a person compared to her.

And that's when I met Matt.

_What's left, but a section of pigmy size cuts much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks._

He started out just as my dealer. I met him at school. I saw him giving a bag of herb to this girl and he was so pissed that I saw him. To make sure I didn't tell he made me smoke a joint right then and there. I never felt anything so...freeing. And it didn't even result in bleeding. So, we became friends and we started to skip school. During school hours me, him, and his other friends would just stay totally baked. We'd take a hit of acid and go watch Sponge Bob. I never really felt accepted like that.

Sometimes we'd go a little heavy and we'd go steal a car. Wasted out of our total minds, we could hardly stay straight on the road and we'd crash the car, but ditch it later with a note that said we're sorry. It was all fun and games until Patrick got busted. He got sentenced to rehab and probation. The poor guy.

But when Buffy came back, everything changed. I was expected to just go back as if nothing happened. Be innocent and wide eyed and look around with wonder. And be as like she never died. One thing that hurt was that I knew if I jumped that night, Willow wouldn't have tried to bring me back. So it just didn't matter anymore.

Buffy became your little fuck toy. And it was cool because she needed it. But I needed something too, as selfish as that sounds. The little cuts and drugs weren't really doing it anymore.

_Would you be my little cut? Would you be my thousand fucks? And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid to fill, and spill over, and under my thoughts_.

One night when Matt and I were on meth. I'm pretty sure it was meth. Either meth or E. Anyway, we were totally outside of our fucking heads. He said he saw this language all over my skin. And I was all like "Get it off. Get it off." And he slowly started to strip me from my clothes and just cover me with his own skin so I wouldn't get infected or something. Well, one thing led to another, and he, uh, tied me up and yeah.

So, we made up a deal. Instead of buying the drugs with money I didn't have-he didn't want me stealing that shit-he said we could fuck instead. It was a _really_ good deal. And by this time, I was over you and it didn't really matter.

_My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter. I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart. Love is not like anything, especially a fucking knife._

He, also, knew about the cuts. Sometimes he'd get bad about them and punish me because of them. It was only when he was drunk was when he'd hit me. He never meant it and afterwards he was real sorry. He'd give me something to take and it would all be better again. But lately, he's been drinking a lot. And he, uh, he started to hit me more. But, that also got seductive. And it was harder to get off without it.

_Look at me, you can tell by the way I move and do my hair. Do you think that it's me or it's not me? I don't even care. I'm alive. I don't smell. I'm the cleanest I have ever been. I feel big, I feel tall, I feel dry._

The saddest thing is that I don't remember a lot. You see these scars right here? The new cuts? I can't even remember how I got them.

_Just look at me, look at me now. I'm a fake. Just look at me, look at me now. I'm a fake._

All I remember is bits in pieces. But I think I was trying to fly. I went out on the roof and I think I took something. And I remember seeing the sky part, like it did when Buffy jumped. And everything was beautiful. And it seemed right. So, I think, I jumped of the roof. But I don't even remember getting back inside. When I woke up though, I saw a couple of cans lying around, so I think I was huffing something at some point of time.

_Do I drink? Do I date? I've got perfect placement all my ink. Satisfied, in your eyes. I'm the biggest fan I've got right now_

Not only do I not remember how I got these cuts, after I woke up, I couldn't remember what Buffy's name was. I couldn't fucking remember.

I swear, Spike. I swear. I swear I never meant it to go this far.

_made sure, that I look how I wanted to look. The people around me, the people surround me. I feel big, I feel tall, I feel dry.  
_

And I'm crying now. I haven't cried in a while. I never really felt the need to. But it all falls on me three-fold. And I'm choking.

"I don't know if I want to get better, Spike," I say, my voice weak and tired. He wraps his arms around me. "Admitting that I need help is, like, admitting that I was wrong. I don't want to be weak anymore. And it's just..." I wiped up the tears that felt so foreign on my numb face.

_My stomach hurts now, and all tied off in lace. I pray, I beg for anything, to hit me in the face and this sickness isn't me. I pray to fall from grace._

"I don't know how to be anything else."

And he turned me around, to look at him. And I swear I could see wet paths down his face, the only evidence that he really cared. But his eyes weren't cold and disgusted anymore. They were wide and remorseful. And I felt guilty.

He took his thumbs and wiped away her tears and reached his head down to kiss her brow.

"I'm so sorry, bit. I. I never even bloody thought..." he started. But I stopped him.  
"It's not your fault. Please don't feel bad," I begged him.  
"We're going to have to tell Buffy, love. We have to get you better." And I nodded because I knew I had to. I didn't really want to, but that wasn't the point.

I was getting tired of the scars and the burnouts.

"I'm tired of smellin' the blood, and the drugs, and the boys." He paused and cuddled me in his arms. He then nuzzled his chin, so my head was underneath it. "I promise we'll get you better, pet. I won't let you fall. I swear to you."

And he kissed my right check that was about to spill a tear. No one has ever really cared that much. Not even Matt.

_The last thing I see is feeling. And I'm telling you I'm a fake. I'm telling you I'm a fake. And I'm telling you I'm..._

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I hope you liked this chapter. I find it very boring for some reason. But I felt it was needed. Hopefully one more chapter left. And if anyone has a song idea or anything for the last chapter, please tell me. I like everything you guys say.

Thanks again for all the great reviews. I hope I made the story to your liking.


	11. Chapter 11

_I own nothing except the druggie friends and the plot.  
Distribution is awesome, but please notify first.  
Thanks. _

_Basics: Buffy died and came back. Basically season 6 plot, but ya know…not. Spike's fucking Buffy, but he's not in it for the love. Dawn knows about the sex. She's also been messing around with drugs, cutting, and having sex._

_The song later in this chapter is called "Aim Snap Fall" by Spill Canvas. It's a brilliant song. And sorry for all the songfic chapters. This is the last chapter.

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_

**Chapter 11**

_"We're going to have to tell Buffy, love. We have to get you better."  
"I'm tired of smellin' the blood, and the drugs, and the boys." He paused and cuddled me in his arms. He then nuzzled his chin, so my head was underneath it.  
"I promise we'll get you better, pet. I won't let you fall. I swear to you."  
_

She walks down the stairs to where her sister is. To where Buffy is. She knows her name now. Spike is in front of her. And she's shaking so bad. It's different to be caught and to just go out and say it.

"Hey Dawn. Spike," she greeted with a smile, her gaze lingering on Spike, checking him up and down. She bit down on her tongue, trying to keep herself in tact.

Dawn looked up, her eyes slightly red and scared. Spike could hear her heart beat and it, finally, wasn't slow. It was beating fast in her chest and he could tell it was bothering her. She folded her arms against her chest and put her hands in her sleeve. Taking her long fingernails, she scratched herself, trying to get the feeling in the pit of her stomach away. She quickly looked down to the floor, setting her stare at her feet. Spike looked off in the distance, not meeting her suggestive glances.

Buffy's brow furrowed. Something was going on here. They both looked too guilty.

"What's going on?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Dawn, and then looking up towards Spike with a question gaze. No one was looking at her. Not even Spike.

Spike gently pushed Dawn in front of him, but kept his hand around her waist as encouragement. She was breathing fast now. He had to calm her down or soon she'd hyperventilate.

"Dawn has something that she wants to tell you," he urged. He was about to walk away, not sure if he should witness it or not. But as he broke away, her eyes all wide and trembling, looked up towards him and he knew she wanted him to stay. This was going to be hard for her.

Buffy wondered where this was leading. She shook her head.  
"Yes?" Her voice was disinterested and honest. It made Dawn angry. Very angry.

All of a sudden, everything flew back at her. The mindless screams that she heard when Buffy and Spike were fucking. The way Buffy stared at her as if she was looking right through her. The way how it was all about her before she died, but now it was all about Buffy.

Spike quickly looked at her, swearing he heard her heart stop for a beat. He titled his head as he noticed she was calm now. No shaking. No trembling. Her eyes weren't wide anymore. They were tight and cold. And she wasn't near about hyperventilating.

She was pissed off.

Sauntering over towards Buffy, she smiled.

"You're such a fucking cunt." she started, looking up at the sky and then back at her sister. Buffy's face flustered, never hearing that type of language from Dawn.  
"What did you say?" Buffy looked so taken back.  
"Would you believe me if I told you I've been going through hell?" She started to laugh, crazily. And Spike didn't like where this was going.  
"What are you talking about, Dawn?" She looked at Spike. "Is she drunk"

Dawn walked over to Spike, getting farther away from Buffy. She shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms.

"No, I'm not drunk. Actually, for the first time in a while, I'm not high, wasted, baked, orgasming, or suffering from lack of blood lost. And it feels pretty good, I must say."  
"What in the hell are you going on about?" Buffy's temper was near about exploding. Was Dawn messing with her?  
"You see this," Dawn says as she forcefully tore off her shirt sleeves, exposing all the cuts. "This is what you have forced me to do. And I mean, this isn't all. I've fucked, smoked, and sat naked, high, and played a bong. I've done it all."

Buffy stood in shock as she heard the disgusting list that Dawn went on about. The scars were revolting; a reddish disgrace to the Summer's name. It was one thing to fuck a dead guy in the privacy of her home, the Bronze alleyway, and in the cemetery, but a whole different thing to slice up your arms and feel good about it. And she didn't even want to get started on the drugs.

"Are you saying that you take a knife and hold it to your skin? Like some sort of freak?" Her face broke out in repulsion. "It was horrible to do that to yourself once, Dawn. But to do it repeatedly? Are you some sort of vampire? Are you looking forward to go into a mental institution?"

Dawn's anger died as she listened to her sister. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to comfort her. Tell her everything was going to be okay. None of this was going with her plan! Nothing was going right.

"You're fucking Spike, for fucksakes. How can you get on me like this?" Dawn questioned. She was doing this all wrong.  
"Me fucking a dead corpse is something different then you getting off on blood and drugs. I mean, seriously Dawn, do you want to be in a mental institution. Because you're one step away from rehab."

Dawn started to shake. And her heart was beating fast again. She never thought about a ward. She never thought about getting locked up in a padded room with no one there but her thoughts. And being so drugged up on medication that she couldn't know her own name. She shook her head, not liking where this was going. Her wild eyes looked up at Spike and then took off, running through the open door. She didn't stop.

_Wouldn't stop_.

Spike stared at her, his jaw open and his face aghast. Not only did she degrade him after all he fucking did for her, but she made Dawn feel like shit.

"Who in the bloody hell do you think you are?" he yelled. He couldn't take it anymore. "How can you be so fucking insensitive? She's your sister! You died for her." He stepped right in front of her and forced his face in hers. "You died for her. And when you bloody jumped, a part of her died with you. She's been through so goddamn much and you don't even care."

He walks to the door and before heading out, he looks back at the girl he gave his heart to.

"She gave up everything, you know. She gave it all up and now she has nothing. All she wanted was someone. You're such a bloody git." He shook his head and slammed the door, heading out in the night.

He followed her scent, straight into the graveyard, and into his crypt.  
"Dawn," he screamed as he threw open the door.

He didn't even want to imagine the images in his mind. They all involved too much blood and a pale nibblet.

"Dawn," he whispered, when he smelt it. His worse fear.

Blood.

He ran towards the ladder and jumped down into his bedroom. He halted when he saw her.

She was lying in his bed, her body and face away from him. Her clothes were scattered about his floor and he tilted his head at that. Her body laid in the fetal position, but she did not shake nor tremble.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to do," her voice says, filled with desperation and no hope. He can see the knife in her hand and it's covered with a bit of blood, but it wasn't much.

He walks over to her and strips off his shirt, just leaving him in his pants. Getting in bed, he pulls her up close to him. Her body was so small in his arms. He could feel her bony ribs as she breathed into him.

"I'm such a fuck up." Her voice was small and feeble. She placed her head closer to his body.  
"No you bloody aren't. Don't let her get to you."

He took the knife from her hands and licked the blood off the blade. He groaned and his blue eyes turned green, mixing with the gold. Her arm, suddenly, appeared by his mouth. He threw her a questioning glance, but she reassured him with a watery smile. He took his tongue and slowly lapped up the pool of blood that seeped out of her cut.

She closed her eyes tightly as his wet tongue sucked on her flesh. It felt like he was kissing her and she liked it. She finally felt useful. She finally felt.

_Aim, snap, fall. The bitter wind weaved its way through the trees so tall. Colors invading sight. I think I've found my new addiction tonight._

"Thanks," she said, tracing the ridges on his forehead with light touches.  
"No, thank you." He placed a few open mouth kisses below her collar bone.

_The phone call left me paralyzed from the waist down. The pureness of it all._

She smiled and looked at him, her head sideways giving her an interesting view. She bit her lower lip and moved her hands so she could feel his muscles. He felt so fierce as if he could attack at any second, but he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't. It was like he really cared for her sometimes.

_And then your siren began to sing. I know this may be redundant, but I think it bears repeating. I think I've found my other half._

"I have a bit of a secret to tell you," she says, her voice hushed and quiet.  
"And that is?" he asks, fingering her hair that fell in her face.  
"I don't think I've actually gotten over you."

_I swear I've found my better half. I think I've found my other half._

His eyes brighten and he grinned. Pulling her closer to him as it was physical possible, he looked upon her face.

"I think I should tell you also…that I sort of fell in love with you."

She almost stopped breathing when the words left his mouth. Her lips reached his a matter of moments. It was quick and over before it began.

"I'm sorry" she apologized, hiding her face from his eyes.  
"Never" he corrected and grabbed her lips again, for a tender kiss. His hands seized her back and pulled her face closer to his.

She hoped he stayed like this. Holding on forever. Because she might be damned, but it didn't matter. He was just as fucked as she was.

_I swear I've found my better half. I think I've found my other half. I swear I've found my better half. Here we go...  
_

**THE END  
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Thank you for all the wonderful support that you guys have given me through out the twenty days, I think. I hope you liked it and maybe, one day, I'll make a epilouge.

Your reviews have been greatly appreciated. I just really hoped you enjoyed this and it came to all your expectations.

Thanks again,  
KC


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